


The Under appreciated Things

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/F, Female Characters, Femlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Femlock Sherlock and John and their adventures of living together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Under appreciated Things

Name.   
Sherlock, she's gotten used to calling Joan by the name of John. She made it a point to remember each and every time she called out her name because the fact of telling Sherlock took Joan longer than it should have,   
"Sherlock?" Joan's voice piped up. The octave was low enough it echoed as the two women made their slow approach in a suspecting warehouse for the latest case.   
"Who else could it be?" Sherlock replied with an equally whispered, low drone, full of her usual sarcasm.   
"Smart-arse, this is serious." Joan's hand fidgeted at her pants, clenching and unclenching into the fabric, "Can we just discuss something?"   
They took a few steps inside a large, hanging doorway, turning on flashlights into the dark room. Then, Sherlock quick look of curiosity, maybe even worry if Joan could have more light, but turned away just as quickly, "If we are to discuss the restroom breaks within cases again, I am willing to make a compromise."   
Joan cracked a smile at that, "I didn't know potty breaks was an important subject to touch." Sherlock went to open her mouth again, but Joan waved her hand, shaking her head. "No, Sherlock, it's not that."   
Sherlock looked at her quizzically, and went forward to dig into some drawers, "It's serious, then. What is it? Did you find somebody? Are you ill?" She made it a point not to look directly into Joan's direction.   
"What? No, no, I'm still healthy and single. I wanted to make a request actually, with my name."   
Of course after the long few minutes of Joan explaining that John was a more fitting name to her, and that maybe Joan was a bit too feminine, did Sherlock fully understand.   
John wasn't like most girls. She did not identify as male, per say, but she didn't enjoy the little things that came with being a woman. Calling herself and being called John made her feel more powerful. Sherlock admires her power.   
…   
Hair.   
Sitting in their chairs one morning, Sherlock's hair is drenched and dripping, her body in a robe, and John is leaning back in her pajamas reading the newspaper.   
"You'll get sick if you keep doing that." John retorts from behind her paper. Sherlock reacts instantly, from being deep in thought to engrossing herself in John's remark.   
"I will get sick. IF. I. Keep. Doing, That. Now, what am I to guess that means? There's an awful lot of things that could get me sick. Yet, looking at me now and what I am currently doing... Hm, lets see. Is it my feet being uncovered? Is it the steeple of my hands to my mouth during flu season? Or were you just simply speaking to your news?" Sherlock was leaning forward, nearly out of her chair.   
John folded down the newspaper, "Dear, I just meant your hair. You leave it down after every shower you take, let the water drip everywhere and leave everything damp. Then, you mope around the flat until it is air dried, and you complain that it gets too curly. Do you know about the blow dryer underneath the sink?"   
Flipping all of her dark hair to one side of her head, Sherlock feels of her hair, "Of course I know about the blow dryer, I use it for experiments. Besides, you take almost thirty minutes with the thing to your hair, does it ever dry?" She pointed to John's own hair.   
John's was longer, but never down. Everyday she was either at the clinic or on a case and the hair went up in an elastic or bun. Her graying hairs mixed evenly with the few blond.   
"No, no it doesn’t. My hair takes forever to dry, Sherlock. Why don't I just cut it off?" John says with deep sarcasm.   
Sherlock stares. Stares for a few moments actually. Her hands run. Run and run through her own hair slowly. She's thinking. "John, I think you'd look fine with short hair."   
It's an open statement. John doesn't know how she should take it by the way her flatshare said the words.   
She cracked a nervous smile, but dropped it for sincerity. "Y- You think I could just chop my hair?"   
And they understand. That John has been secretly loathing this aspect of long hair. That it is too heavy, that it doesn't do a good job of representing herself. Sherlock believes every time John would nod a comment at her hair, that she wanted Sherlock to notice something about hers.   
So,   
"Sherlock?" John walks into the flat quietly, rounding the corner to maybe see her flatmate. "Sherlock, I want to show you something." It was the very day after their 'hair' realization.   
John turns around, hearing Sherlock's bed creak, then the door to the room opens.   
"John, I-" They look at one another from opposite ends of the hallway. "You've cut it!" Sherlock announces, then bounds to John.   
Sherlock's hands go to feel John's hair, scrunching it in her hands. John had gotten herself an undercut, most of it shaved short except for the long bunch at the top, it was, "Hot."   
Sherlock hesitates, then stutters out, "N-No, not, hot as in you are hot and I need- No, I mean. I took a shower an hour ago and I blow dried my hair and it was hot and I felt I should share that with you." Every word came out fast and hurried, save for the last few words, "Aren’t you proud?"   
John's eyes widened, her face smiling, her hands trying to calm Sherlock, "You dried your hair, I knew something was different." Just like Sherlock, but calmer, she put a hand to Sherlock's long hair. It was curly still, sure, but softer waves, looked longer. "I like it, either way you fix your hair, it's fine."   
"All fine?" Sherlock asked, touching John's hand on her hair with her own hand.   
Eyes. They looked at one another with this smile, staring at one another's eyes.   
The moment broke with John coughing, looking away.   
…   
Clothing.   
John notices that sometimes, more than sometimes, Sherlock forgets about her existence and walks around the flat naked. The grown woman sleeps all natural, John is sure on that, and in the early hours of morning, she'll walks halfway out in the hallway before seeing John and nonchalantly turning around back in her room.   
After showers, John realizes that Sherlock uses one towel, not two. She'll walk out in the hallway to dry her body before taking the towel from her body and running it to her hair. It's maddening, attention hogging, and on purpose.   
John is sure of it.   
She remembers the first time it happened. It was within the first week of meeting Sherlock. John was tired. Ready to catch up on sleep she had made tea and stood at the kitchen table as she sipped.   
John hears Sherlock come out of her room, hears her yawn and lean against the wall in an equal state of exhaustion.   
"Sherlock, I was about to head to bed, but I left food in the-" John walked to the hallway and stopped at the reveal of skin. "Oh." Her hand came up to shield, yet she still looked.   
"I forget about my decency, I apologize for that part. But do be mature." Sherlock walked, still slumped from the tired, "You said there was food in the fridge? Is it chow mien?" She opened the refrigerator, looking.   
"Mature? I thought I was being respectful." John sighs, "And before you go on telling everyone I'm awkward around the human body, I'll remind you I was a doctor. Not a nurse, but a doctor!" She looks finally at Sherlock and nods at the fridge, indicating that: 'yes there is food in there, but no it's not chow mien.'   
…   
Mr. Hudson   
The housekeeper, he is a nice, older man. He cooks, cleans, gives eccentric but latent advice, he is their rock.   
Also, he is the matchmaker.   
"You two look absolutely sated. Had a fun night, then, last night?" Mr. Hudson implied.   
Sherlock kept quiet but shot a bright, open eyed, tight lipped look. John was the one who turned red in the face, "Mister!....Euhm, no we had a case. In fact, a very curious but easy case to solve. There was no, nothing."   
Mr. Hudson perked a smile from the side of his mouth, looking at silent Sherlock, "Oh, you don't have to be shy with me. I've seen things, heard things. A little fling with two girls is nothing that will make me flinch."   
Sherlock lets out a breath, then, blinking a few times, and she smiles with cleverness. "Just like a fling with two boys? Am I right to say your old friend you always mention wasn't just a friend to you?"   
John so badly wants to give Sherlock a warning glare, that prying into other people's lives isn't right, but the embarrassment is a little greater.   
Mr. Hudson closes his eyes, with a smile still, "Oh, Sherlock. He was special to me." Then, with a creak in his knees, he stands, grabbing the tray to bring back downstairs. This leaves John sitting, with an odd look on her face.   
"I'm not sure what to make of what just happened there."   
Sherlock goes back to what she was doing, "Nothing happened. Make nothing of it."   
…   
BOOBS.   
They sat at a café, waiting for the rain to stop before resuming a near dead end case. Humid. Everything was humid and hot.   
"Make that twenty more minutes before we step out again." Waving a menu to her sweaty, hair stuck head and gleaming chest, Sherlock groaned.   
John was equally sweaty, wearing a whole other layer than Sherlock, but she didn't wave herself off. No, she sipped at her, quote on quote, "el te helado", compliments of the Spaniard waitress on this hot day, staring at Sherlock's indecency.   
"You begging for a free meal too?" John tried to keep it down, looking from the cleavage to Sherlock's face.   
She squinted back, a hand coming to her breasts before realizing, "Honestly, it's how hot outside? It shouldn't matter if I decide to let a few more buttons down." She looked down once more, pushing her peeking black bra back into the confines of her strained shirt. She smiles then.   
John takes another, larger, longer drink of her iced tea and looks away. "You're right. Our waitress was just staring and it gave me second-hand embarrassment." Then, the same waitress is seen coming their way with dessert menus from across the café.   
"You think she was staring at me? Who got the free tea?" Sherlock's eyebrow arches just as the waitress reaches the table, laying down the menus.   
"Missus I must compliment you two, very pretty ladies," Her heavy accent doesn't hide her favoritism to John as she winks in her direction, "How about a dessert on me as well?"   
Sherlock's teeth chew at her bottom lip, staring out the window before turning back to the waitress with a snap, "Two dessert? Or is she getting that for herself, too?"   
John winces, 'went well so far', "Sherlock!", she hisses a breath.   
"No, no. You both get a dessert of your choice. I'll let you look." The waitress stands up straight and tall, shocked and found out, then taps the menus as she turns around and briskly walks off.   
"I don't even want a dessert." Sherlock inquired.   
John angrily pulls one to her face, "You do now. That was rude." She lowers the menu for a moment, "And put your breasts back in your shirt."   
…   
Pregnant.   
"John. I think I'm pregnant." Sherlock leans against the table heavily in front of John, a hand grabbing hard at her abdomen.   
John, eating take out, drops her fork and hears it fall on the ground with a clink before messing her trousers. "You had sex?"   
Sherlock bites her lip, head going down and the hand on her belly moving to cup her mouth. She shakes her head up and down.   
Getting up, John jumps to her side, moving her to the sink just in case. "You. YOU! You are really pregnant?!" She goes to reach for Sherlock's hair, when the hand falls from her mouth.   
Sherlock sports a grin. Then, quickly a laugh.   
Worry turns to anger. John stamps a foot, hands going to her sides, "What?! Sherlock!"   
"I just..." She backs up to the counter, "...I've been doing it all day, actually."   
"What? Lying?" John returns to her seat.   
Sherlock joins in front of her, "It's an experiment. So far, I made Greg go into a silent spell, Molly muttered a tiny 'no', and Mr. Hudson nearly threw confetti at me. I'm elaborating on the last one, but seriously! John, your reaction...!"   
John sinks her hands on her face, "You nearly made my heart go out."   
Sherlock couldn't see her face, but John's ears were quickly getting red. "Trust me. You'll never find Sherlock Holmes, pregnant."   
Sherlock couldn't see it, but she knew John cracked a smile at that.   
…   
Pain.   
"You're menstruating. Here." Dark painted nails on a pale hand holding an antique cup appeared in front of John's face.   
She picked her head up from the armrest of Sherlock's chair, curled fetal position in it's seat. John's eyes were red, tired, but she still managed to process a facial expression of confusion.   
"Right, thanks." John shuffled to a sitting position and outstretched her sweatered arms, taking the mysterious concoction. "What..." Her eyes drifted to the cloudy liquid, swirling it with her hands, "What is it? What is all this?"   
Sherlock's face beamed. "That is cranberry tea, very bitter, but will help you."   
"Yeah, got that," Looking up at Sherlock, she noted the bags behind her on the kitchen table, and even more so, her clenched left hand. "I mean, why are you doing this?"   
Sherlock revealed two white pills, she ginger placed them in John's palm. "Does having somebody care for once scare you?" Then, she walks to dig in one of the bags.   
John watches her, swallowing down the pills, "No, having you care for me is slightly scary." There wasn't a reply as Sherlock sorted out the bag's contents. "What else did you buy?"   
"I bought a heating pad, the tea, pills, tampons, pads, liners, underwear granted I guessed your size, and comfort food."   
John sputtered a little in her tea. Feminine products were one welcome thing, but buying another girl underwear was another. "Panties? You bought me panties as to say... what?"   
Sherlock looked at John a moment before grabbing the small sack of pants and tossing it at her flatmate, "To say that I can relate if you did need them."   
She nudged through the modest undies and took a sigh, "Granny panties, thank the lord. I thought you went all out for some reason."   
"Oh, yes. Because when I see my best woman in pain, I buy her revealing lace undergarments." Sherlock chuckled.   
"Best woman?"   
...


End file.
